


Way-station

by terma_archivist



Category: Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-01
Updated: 2000-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: A plot? No, not really, just some ambiance. Tom Andrews, a new hired schoolteacher, is on his way to Curtis Wells for his first teaching job. The stagecoach he's travelling on is being escorted by Newt Call, a bounty-hunter/gun-slinger. Night comes, so do the guys.
Relationships: Tom Andrews/Newt Call
Collections: TER/MA





	Way-station

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> Thank you for not hurting me. I don't mean any harm. I'm just playing. Beta reading courtesy of the most lovely and gracious Erika, who dusted this off, straightened it out and made it much easier to understand the technical parts of the sex scene. Also rendering aid are the most holy Dr Ruthless, and dossier, who knows more about the old west than I do.

**Way-station  
by Carla Jane**

  
The other two passengers in the coach wouldn't stop complaining. They whined about the sorrowful conditions of the hotels they had been forced to stay in, about the unevenness of the ride, the erratic early spring weather, even about the dust blowing in the windows of the stagecoach. Tom was tempted to tell them to be grateful they were free to feel the sun on the skin at all, but instead he simply nodded and dismissed them from his thoughts. 

The coach had picked up a few packages and a hired gun two towns back. Odd to think of the scruffy man riding alongside the coach as a guard. For Tom, the word 'guard' conjured up images of barred-up holes in the wall and uniformed sadists with clubs. The dirty cowboy in buckskin and leather who was keeping pace with them wasn't a proper 'guard', no matter what the stage driver called him. 

Despite sitting inside the coach, it was easy to picture himself in the cowboy's place. The man outside was similar to the way Tom himself had been six years ago. His memories of living out of saddlebags and going months without a bath or a comfortable night's sleep weren't completely gone. Those sensations had just been subsumed by five years of hard labour, borderline starvation, rat bites and attempting to avoid beatings. Tom still wasn't used to the feel of clean clothes against his skin or having to look at people in the eyes when they approached to converse with him. He still had to remind himself every morning that he was free. 

Mrs. Bailey was fluttering her fan again, wafting her potent perfume about, while Mr. Bailey knocked back yet another 'sustaining' swallow from the flask he carried inside his jacket. Outside, the shadows had lengthened to stick figures. 

Tonight would be spent in a way-station rather than a town but with a bit of luck Tom Williams would arrive in Curtis Wells tomorrow. 

* * *

The re-occurring nightmare that begun plaguing him over the last few years dragged Tom out of a deep sleep when his thrashing tipped over the tiny cot they had given him. Sweating, and not willing to face another dark dream right away, he took himself out of the building and into the relative safety of the cool, moonlit night. 

Tom paced away from the way-station, almost tripping over the fence that surrounded it. He cursed, and his hands reached down trying to discover if he'd ripped his new pants. 

"Don't be wandering off." 

Spinning around, Tom squinted at the man who had startled him. 

"Wolves. Bears." The hired gun came closer, making a wide gesture with one hand. "And worse. This ain't no time or place to go for a stroll." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Tom protested. "I just needed a breath of fresh air." 

The cowboy grunted non-committally and looked past Tom to the dimly outlined landscape. "The driver says you're to be the new school-teacher for Curtis Wells." A long pause separated his next words. "Strange job for a man... dealing with kids like that." 

"Shaping the future," he explained. Tom had heard that objection about his new profession constantly over the last little while. "I can't think of a more important mission in life. I'd guess you're not a family man, or you would understand more easily." 

That supposition earned Tom a glare and bared teeth. "Keep your guesses to yourself, school-teacher." 

A movement out in the distance caught the corner of Tom's eye. The cowboy must have seen it too because he tensed up, grabbing at his gun. 

"Stay out of my way," he advised pushing Tom aside. 

The shadow outside the fence flashed yellow eyes, and then vanished. 

"Just an animal." The guy sounded almost disappointed. He stalked back toward the stables, his gun still drawn. 

After a moment's hesitation, Tom followed. "What are you expecting?" 

The question rated only a snort of annoyance. 

Given the choice between standing outside in the overwhelming darkness alone, going back to his nightmare or distracting himself, Tom chose to follow the gunslinger into the low, lantern lit shelter. "Bandits?" 

Pale blue eyes turned back toward the door, startled that the other man had chased after him. "You ain't carrying a gun." The observation was tinged with annoyance. "You should. This part of the country isn't for men who can't defend themselves and what they hold dear." 

"I don't like guns." 

That got a laugh out of the grubby man. "Makes sense you're a school-teacher." He grinned. "I bet you're one of them sissy boys." 

That insult was best ignored. "There's no danger in here." Tom glowered down at the weapon that was halfway pointed in his direction. It was more disturbing than anything the cowboy could have said to him. "Put that away." 

"Scares you, does it?" The barrel tipped, playfully threatening. "Is the sissy afraid of loud noises?" 

"I didn't say I was afraid of guns." Tom closed the distance between them until he was practically bumping his face into the cowboy's hat brim. He then seized Newt's wrist, pinching hard to immobilize the hand holding the weapon. Tom twisted the surprisingly fragile wrist to one side, forcing the gun to point at the wall. "I just don't like them." It was strange, looking down on a man who had seemed so imposing on the trail. Frowning, Tom studied the face in front of him, now that he was close enough to do so. Call's age had been well hidden under grime and a thin beard and moustache. The gunslinger was younger than Tom had previously suspected and his wide-eyed shock at Tom's behaviour only emphasised his youth. 

"Get off me." The cowboy growled indignantly, shoving Tom away, and jerking backward. "If you ever touch me or mine again and I'll give you something to be afraid off." 

The battered hat fell away to reveal autumn gold hair, longer than Tom's. It was Tom's turn to smile. The guy was actually quite pretty under all the deceptive armour he wore. It made sense the guy would try to compensate for his short stature and less than rugged looks by staying dirty and keeping people at a distance. Tom had seen it happen enough times in jail enough in jail. He'd even pulled a variation of the routine himself. "I don't know your name." He took a step backward. "I'm Tom Andrews." 

Puzzlement made the gunslinger look even younger. He hesitated, as if considering if it were safe, before holstering his weapon. "Call." 

"Just 'Call'? Is that your first or last name?" Tom backed up even further, silently offering to keep his distance. 

"What's it your business?" the blond asked, his upper lip curling. When Tom didn't rise to the angry bait, but just stood waiting patiently, he gave in and grumbled, "Newt Call." 

"I'm going to Curtis Wells. Do you know that town?" That seemed a safe enough question. 

Shoulders shrugged. "I used to. I suppose I do. I live there sometimes." His sneer returned. "You ain't gonna fit in there too good, school-teacher." 

"I usually manage," Tom countered. "I've managed to fit in to all sorts of places where you wouldn't think I'd be comfortable in." He glanced behind to see what the floor was like before choosing to seat himself on a nearby pile of hay. This distraction from his nightmares might turn out to be vaguely pleasant after all. "What are the people like there?" 

"No better or worse than anywhere else I suppose." Newt shifted from foot to foot, and his eyes strayed to the door. 

"Do you have family there? Your parents?" 

"I ain't no kid." The protest blustered out. "I've got myself. That's all I need." Pain weighted the words. 

"I didn't say you were a kid," Tom pacified. He leaned back against the rough wood wall that the loose bails were pushed up against, shifting to get more comfortable on the prickly hay. "I know the way it goes. I was left on my own when I was still too young. It's a hard life you've got before you, Newt." 

Call was staring now. "You're not much older than me," he concluded after a moment's study. He sounded surprised. "Besides... what would a teacher know about it?" 

"I wasn't born a teacher." This conversation was threatening to bend in a direction Tom didn't want to travel, especially if Call lived in Curtis Wells. Tom was headed there with the intention of starting over fresh. "I doubt you were born a gunslinger. Wouldn't you rather be doing something else? Something you could be proud of, because you don't look very happy the way you are now." 

"Don't." His hand dropped back onto the handle of his gun and Call stepped closer to Tom. He leaned over the seated man. "You talk too much." The complaint snarled out. "What the hell do you want? Why are you out here?" 

There was no way Tom wanted to explain his nightmares. He tipped his head back, gazing up at the young man's attempt to loom over him. "I... I don't..." Tom blinked, wondering how anyone could take Call seriously once they realized what perfectly beautiful lips he had. Maybe that's why the gunslinger stayed unshaven, to hide his sweet mouth. 

Newt's brow furrowed, making him look impatient and confused at the same time. "What?" 

A crooked smile formed on Tom's mouth. It took effort not to answer with a smart-ass flirt. That kind of thing would get him into no end of trouble. "Sorry. It's been a long trip and I'm just... " God, he hoped there was at least one single woman in Curtis Wells worth courting. It had been forever since he'd been able to choose a lover freely and pursue that person. A man, of course, was completely out of the question. He was going to have to live up to the expectations of the community. Giving in to that bend in his desires might get a school-teacher lynched. 

Golden-brown eyebrows drew together. Call's head tilted to one side and he bent a bit closer into Tom's proximity, testing the other man. 

Tom tipped his own head the other way but he made no further move to invite any contact between them. If Call was the one to initiate something that was a different story entirely. 

"Are you...?" Newt faltered. "... asking for something?" The question was vague but his expression took on an intensity of it's own. "What do you want from me?" 

He knew this was foolish, for a multitude of reasons. Tom wasn't looking for a transitory fling. He wanted something more committed and long term. Then there were other reasons; like the fact that Tom was going to have to face this man in the future on the streets of his new town, and Call was supposed to be on guard against intruders tonight, and the door to this building didn't lock. Still, Call was attractive, if a bit on the gamy side and Tom hadn't had much fun in his life since he'd made the stupid mistake of thinking armed robbery would be an easy way to earn some money. Besides, the gunslinger wasn't likely going to be crowing off to anyone in his hometown about what might happen tonight. 

Tom dropped his lashes a bit, looking up through them. That particular move had raised a fair number of skirts back in his teen years, before jail. He also knew it had an effect on the other men in the prison, but those memories weren't exactly welcome right now. 

"What are you offering?" There was a faintly desperate, yet still hesitant quality to the interaction. Neither of them was willing to commit to the first step, no matter if it looked like the other was willing to follow along. 

"You must've followed me in here for a reason." Call's breath hitched and he swallowed. "Me... I sleep here." 

The moves in this foolish game they'd entered together were mere baby-steps. Tom pushed further. "Where is your blanket?" 

"Why? Didn't they give you one inside?" Newt continued to hover, not coming any closer. 

Throwing caution to the dusty wind, Tom's hand lifted up and, with the tip of one finger, he traced the inviting pink of Newt's lips. "You have the most amazing mouth. It's exquisite." 

The compliment seemed to stun the young man. The muscles in his shoulders bunched briefly. Call brushed the delicate touch away, leaned the rest of the way in and dropped to his knees. His fingers threaded into short black hair and Tom's face was tipped up so it could be clearly seen in the flickering lantern light. "What kinda stuff will you do with me?" Call asked in a hushed whisper. 

"Pardon?" Tom tensed, this encounter was suddenly too reminiscent of clashes he'd had with other prisoners back in Clarkwell. He braced himself, preparing to shove the cowboy away. 

"You're coming on to me." Call lifted his fingers away from Tom's head, seeming fascinated by the way the dark hair looked against his skin. "I want to. You're damned fine to look at... but fucked if I know what you want me to say, or exactly what you're willing to do," he stated flatly. "I ain't no poet and you ain't no girl that needs romancing, are you? So what do we do?" 

Tom almost laughed. What he'd taken for hesitation, and then aggression, was actually simple bewilderment. "A little bit of romance is good for the soul, even when it's just a passing amusement." 

Call's upper lip pulled up and his brows pushed down. "I don't understand." His head shook. 

Catching a gather of brocade vest in his fingers, Tom pulled Newt closer so the blond was practically kneeling on his lap. "A kiss would be a good place to start." 

That suggestion rated a full out frown. "I didn't kiss the other guys I did stuff with." 

"I'm not one of those 'other guys'." The reminder was gently voiced. As he spoke, Tom pressed the buttons on Newt's fancy vest through their holes. 

Call's mouth fell open and he panted. His hand lifted as if to shove Tom's touch away but he didn't complete the action. 

When Tom finished with the vest and no actual objection had yet to be raised he went to work on the soiled shirt underneath, baring an almost hairless chest. Once the way was finally clear, Tom's palm skimmed inside. His other hand curved around the back of Call's neck and drew him down into a kiss. Those lips were just as soft and sweet as he'd suspected. 

The man straddling him started out tense with unease, but as Tom drew out the kiss, nibbling and sucking, Newt's posture loosened up and he began kissing back. 

A faint squeak of surprise came from Newt when Tom parting his lips and pressing his tongue against Call's teeth. Blue eyes went wide in surprise but he didn't flinch away so Tom persisted. His roaming hand brushed across a hard nipple then down ribs and a flat stomach. Tom drew his fingers out of the other man's open shirt and cupped the erection straining against the front of Call's pants. 

Newt's mouth opened to let out a moan and Tom's tongue slipped inside. He tasted, appropriately enough, of bitter coffee and dust. Tom explored the inside of Call's teeth, and then sucked hard, pulling the other man's tongue into his own mouth. His hand massaged and Newt rocked against him eagerly. 

What would he do with Call? The question battered at Tom. How far was he willing to go to scratch this itch he was feeling? He knew what he really wanted, but Tom doubted the blond would be willing. Still, it couldn't hurt to try. 

Very carefully, Tom shifted to undo the fastenings on Newt's pants. He broke off the kiss and his hands urged Call to rise back up to his feet while Tom squirmed a bit lower. Tom dragged his open mouth down the salty skin of the blond's throat and chest as they moved; distracting Call from the way his gunbelt was being removed and his trousers were being tugged at. 

Call's cock, when it was revealed, was a pleasant surprise; not too fat, a good length, and cleaner than Tom would have suspected, considering the rest of the man. Newt's desperate moan at the touch of Tom's fingers made for a nice bit of spice in the mix. 

It wasn't until the moment he bent his head that Tom decided to do more than stroke the lovely blond off. Tom's lips brushed the tip of Newt's erection. His tongue flicked out, tasting cautiously. The flavour was a bit strong but nothing compared to some of the things he'd had to take into his mouth during his stint in Clarkwell. 

"Damn!" Call's right hand threaded into the longer black hair on the top of Tom's head, attempting to drag Tom down onto his rod. "Swallow me down." 

Tom fought the pressure. "I know what I'm doing." He insisted. His own hand circled Call's cock, petting and steadying the jumping flesh at the same time. Tom swiped the underside of his tongue over the weeping tip to avoid the earliest, tartest flavour. Once the tip was thoroughly washed with saliva Tom progressed to suckling at the loose foreskin, teasing the tip of his tongue into the gap between overtly sensitive bits. 

Tom pulled off with a sloppy lick. "Take your pants off, Newt." He encouraged, pushing at the cloth with his hands. 

Call hesitated, his hand still in Tom's hair, and then he released the other man and scrambled out of his boots and trousers. 

Tom used the time as well. Newt might be content to mess around half dressed, but Tom wanted skin on skin. He stripped himself down quickly, tossing the clothes down to protect them from the prickly bundles of hay, and when the other man settled back down beside him Tom pulled at the shirt and vest still hanging off Newt's shoulders. "Take these off too," he requested. 

"You're an odd one." Newt's shoulders shrugged, discarding them, and then dropping down on top of the other. He shoved Tom back. "I want some more of your mouth." The words were partly a demand, but more a plea. 

Settling his hands on Call's hips, he pulled, drawing the blond closer to his face and laying back at the same time. "Bring it here." Tom's head leaned into the hay, his head tipped, and he licked his lips. 

With a puzzled expression on his face, Newt crawled up the pale body below him. He knelt over Tom's face, braced his palms against the stable wall, and stared down. "This is strange." 

"Trust me." This position gave Tom access to everything. He cupped the heavy balls hanging above his face. His thumbs stroked up the hard shaft, holding it steady. "Lovely." First Tom licked up the underside of the erection. He played with it for as long as Call's patience would allow, nipping and flicking his tongue over it, enjoying the moans that his lavish attentions earned. 

When the blond's curses got too extreme Tom opened his mouth, and he pulled the straining cock down into wet heat. 

"Yesss." Newt's pale head flew back. His spine snapped into a bow. 

Pleasure made Call even more beautiful. Tom worked at the hard flesh in his mouth, raising a sheen of perspiration on the man above him. His hands moved, caressing velvety skin, skimming over every curve, brushing into every crease he could reach. 

Newt reacted perfectly, widening his stance. Gradually Tom concentrated more of his attention on the slick, sensitive skin between the balls and his lover's puckered hole. With the help of his hand, saliva was smeared further back with each swipe of Tom's fingers. The first time he brushed across the tight pucker Call shivered and let out a thick moan. 

"Don't," Newt protested, even as his legs widened further as if in invitation. 

Tom swallowed hard, distracting his companion. Keeping up the pressure, his fingers carefully insinuated themselves. He circled the entrance to Newt's body, stroking it. 

"Damn!" Call's legs trembled and he leaned further forward. His hands scrabbled at the rough wall without finding proper purchase. Attempts at thrusting down into Tom's mouth were less than successful. The position simply wouldn't allow it. 

Tom dragged his fingertips through the dripping moisture where his lips worked at Call's erection to collect more saliva. A moment later Newt's body was pierced with the very end of Tom's slippery finger. Call flinched back, pulling his erection out to the tip. Tom sucked wetly, pushing his bottom lip out to cradle the fleshy head. His finger eased a little further in. 

"Son of a bitch." 

Still, Call didn't pull up and away. Tom massaged the wrinkled skin of Newt's balls with his free hand, brushing the base of his cock. It took forever, gathering up enough slippery saliva to get his finger all the way in to that hellishly tight hole, then even more to press another in. Newt had stopped his hollow protests and adding bit of firm pressure, against just the right spot inside him, actually provoked words of encouragement. 

"Damn. That's good. Do that." Call shuddered. His hands left the rough-hewn wall. He was now leaning into the gentle exploration. Shoulders pushed back, his spine curved and Newt's grip settled at Tom's hips. "Damn. God damn." He shivered and groaned with each twisting caress inside him. When Tom's fingers eventually removed themselves from the now slickened passage Call gasped out his disappointment. "Don't stop that." Tom released the stiff cock from his mouth with a little pop and a protest cracked Call's voice. "Bastard." 

"Move down." Tom whispered in a low gravely tone. "I can do you better. Slide down me, Newt." An insistent push at the blond's hips emphasised the request. "Please." 

Blue eyes widened in panic. "I can't do that." Still, Call inched back slightly, trailing a sticky line of pre-come down Tom's chest. 

"You'll like it." Tom promised. "You liked my fingers. You'll like this even more." He squirmed, trying to get into a seated position so Newt was over his hips. "Kneel." He instructed gently. 

Call's eyes screwed tightly shut and he tried to raise himself. His breath caught as Tom's hands curved around to cup and part Newt's ass cheeks. Shivers were wracking throughout his body almost continually. 

When the slippery tip of Tom's erection kissed against Call's carefully loosened butthole, Newt gave voice to an eager groan. "Do it. Go ahead. Do it." 

"No." The objection was softly voiced. "You do it. Ease down, relax your legs and sit down on me, Newt. It'll be no faster than you can take it." Tom wrapped his right hand around the blond's cock, his thumb stroking the dripping head. "It'll feel wonderful as long as you stay relaxed. Come on, Newt. You're going to really like this." 

It took forever. Tom was tempted to grab at the other man and rush him, but he kept control. It was amazing that Call was even willing to do this. Impatience would ruin everything. 

Little by little, clinging heat surrounded Tom's throbbing cock. His panting took on a pleading overtone. "Yes, come on. Take me in." Tom forced himself to keep up the fondling strokes of Call's erection. His nails rubbed back and forth up the length, and then brushed over the head to gather more slick. He managed to struggle upright just as Newt's body settled flush against him. Squeezing his hand and Call's cock between their stomachs, Tom pressed a searching kiss on his companion. 

Newt's body rocked in place. He responded to the kiss with almost violent eagerness, mashing their lips together and invading Tom's mouth with none of the hesitation he'd shown earlier. 

They kissed long enough to make Tom light-headed, nearly chewing at each other. Excited whines were escaping both their throats. 

The move was unplanned, instinctive. Tom shoved, toppling them so that the blond was trapped underneath him. Call moaned, twisting to keep them joined despite the movement. His legs freed, Tom drew out and thrust hard into the body squirming below him. 

"So beautiful." His tongue ran up Newt's throat since it was arched below him, exposed for his pleasure. 

Call's knees wrapped around his lover's hips, dragging them together, showing that he was enjoying the pace Tom was attempting to set. "Do it." Newt murmured, almost inaudibly. "Do it." Call's voice cracked. "Yeah. That's it." 

Newt's acquiescence burned up Tom's spine like liquid lightning. He threw himself into the act, burying himself in, and then withdrawing from the burning body below him, over and over. 

Call joined in eagerly. His body rocked, responding to the action, pushing up against it and groaning out his enjoyment. Newt's voice was gone. Only rough panting escaped him now. Calloused fingers dragged at Tom's shoulders and arms, encouraging the jolting shoves. 

Fuck it was hard to hold off, but Tom wanted the other man to come first. He wanted to feel the tremors shaking Call's body around him. Tom hooked his hips abruptly. Sweat was dripping off of him and smeared onto the steaming skin under his, making the contact between them even slicker. Newt was hard as rock, sliding in the mess that was growing between their bellies. 

The first sign was when Newt's hands slipped away, fists slamming down to the hay and dirt below them. His mouth opened as if to scream but no sound emerged. Finally the blond's body snapped tight and shudders began to tear through Call. 

Tom pounded fiercely, attempting to ride out the insane heat and pressure dragging at his cock, only to fail while Newt was still in spasms. Tom groaned loudly and orgasm clawed through him. Stars exploded behind his closed eyelids and fragments of his spirit seemed to tear out of him to embed themselves in Newt's shivering body. 

The end was no easy slowing of movement but a complete and total collapse. 

When Tom finally managed to drag his eyes open and lift a little weight of the man beneath him it was to see Call's chest heaving and his face turned away, hidden in the curve of one gold dusted arm. 

Both of them lay quietly for a time, catching their breath. Finally, Tom couldn't take it. He rolled up onto his side and reached. The arm covering Newt's face came away reluctantly. A sadness tainted Call's expression. His light blue-grey gaze was firmly fixed in another direction. 

"You have beautiful eyes, Newt." 

The declaration made Call's nose wrinkle. 

Tom knew what he was about to verbalize bordered on foolishness but, God, he was tired off keeping everything tightly wrapped away for fear of what people would think or do if he spoke his mind. "To just say they're blue doesn't do them justice." His fingertips spidered over the enticing expanse of skin that lay beside him. 

Call's lashes dropped, unwilling to meet Tom's gaze. 

"People say the sky is blue, but I remember, a long time ago... I was sitting by a huge lake, on the rocks right at the edge of the water. It was a perfectly clear day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. I was alone. I used to spend a lot of time alone." Tom offered up a hesitant smile. "Nearest the rocks a froth of white began the moving wash of colour. The water just beyond had a green, almost golden tinge to it. Then the blue began. There were rippling shades of everything between twilight silver and sapphire. The sun would catch the top of the waves and give the illusion of stars flitting across the water. It didn't stop at the horizon either. It just melted into the powdered colour of the sky. When I looked up, that piercing blue darkened to almost a violet streak above my head. The pallet was only occasionally broken by the flight of a bird. I sat there watching that intoxicating spectacle until my eyes started to water. Watching. Listening to the wind and the waves." 

That dusty gold head was shaking denial even as Tom spoke but he continued on anyway, wanting to finish his thought. "To say that your eyes are blue doesn't do them justice either, Newt." Tom sighed softly. The realization that this man he was trysting with couldn't accept what he was saying actually hurt. "But you don't want to hear this, do you?" 

"I don't want your poetry, school-teacher." Newt rolled away, grabbing after his clothing. "I ain't a woman. What you did to me don't mean squat. Don't you start thinking it does or I'll make you sorry. I'm still a man, more of a man than you I 'spect." 

Tom lazy satisfaction was quickly dissipating. "I'm not suggesting anything like that." He sat up. "It's not a competition to see who's more of a man, Newt." Watching his lover of the hour sliding into his gear, careless of the fluids drying on his stomach... strapping back on his guns and glaring as if nothing were between them, depressed him. 

Christ, he was sick of trysts that were over quicker than he could gather his clothing up. This had been a mistake. Tom had known that right from the start. He wanted someone steady, not a casual lover. 

"I'm sorry." Brushing away bits of hay, Tom reached for his own pants. "I'll get out of your way. I'll stay out of your way." The second half of the statement promised more far-reaching effects. "If you want to pretend this never happened, I won't argue." Bitterness crept into his tone. "I wish you wouldn't, but it's your choice." 

A flush of red tinted Call's cheeks. "You don't understand. You're not from around here. You don't know anything about me or the way things are." 

"I could say the same to you," Tom countered softly. "Never mind Newt... I mean, Call," he corrected himself. "I'd offer to buy you a drink when we get to Curtis Wells, but something tells me you'd rather not be seen socializing with a school teacher." Tom finished dressing as he headed for the door. 

It looked for a moment as if Newt might protest, but his pretty face tightened back into the scowl he'd been wearing the entire day and he turned away. The battered hat on the ground was snatched up and jammed back over his head. 

He was afraid of what he'd find if he crossed the dirt floor to force Newt to face him again, no matter whether it was annoyance or regret at what had just been said. One reaction would make things hurt even worse, and the other would be just plain dangerous. Tom Andrews slipped out into the night and back into the way station. 

That's it, Milk and cookies time 

* * *

Way-station   
By Carla Jane   
[email removed]   
A 'Lonesome Dove' fanfic, featuring Tom Andrews and Newt Call who were played by Nick Lea and Scott Bairstow OMG! The world has come to an end. This isn't a crossover.   
November 2000   
Summary: A plot? No, not really, just some ambiance. Tom Andrews, a new hired schoolteacher, is on his way to Curtis Wells for his first teaching job. The stagecoach he's travelling on is being escorted by Newt Call, a bounty-hunter/gun-slinger. Night comes, so do the guys.   
Rating: VERY NC17 for male/male (slash) sexual interactions, tab A/slot B graphic m/m sex I can write PG13 (see LPG), but it doesn't hold peoples' interest (mine included) so I stopped. _Shrug_   
Disclaimers: I had to poke around a bit to find out who owned 'Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw years'. It turns out Rysher Entertainment does. Some writers, producers and actors who are far more talented than I am deserve the credit for creating these toys.   
Thank you for not hurting me. I don't mean any harm. I'm just playing.   
Beta reading courtesy of the most lovely and gracious Erika, who dusted this off, straightened it out and made it much easier to understand the technical parts of the sex scene. Also rendering aid are the most holy Dr Ruthless, and dossier, who knows more about the old west than I do.   
---


End file.
